


To Love a Mockingbird

by Ellsweetella



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, I don't know, Maleficent AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-18
Updated: 2014-06-18
Packaged: 2018-02-05 04:56:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1806094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellsweetella/pseuds/Ellsweetella
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rumbelle Maleficent AU. Rumplestiltskin is Halfling with both Fae and shapeshifter blood. He is the most powerful of the Moors. He loses his wings and succumbs to the darkness inside of him. Belle is a mockingbird who is bound to him after he saves her life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Love a Mockingbird

**Author's Note:**

> This is the prologue of a Maleficent Rumbelle AU. Unbeta’d. I need a beta ;-;  
> Inspired by http://im-not-a-what.tumblr.com/post/88321705466/would-you-rather-i-let-them-beat-you-to-death

 Rumplestiltskin was a Halfling, the son of a faerie and a raven shape shifter. His mother, the raven, had died during childbirth, stuck between her two forms. Her body could not withstand the stress of having a child with such strong powers and had fallen apart, torn by the magic of her own child.

She was called Brona--sadness. In a way, it suited her.

Chained to Rumplestiltskin’s father ever since she was a mere hatchling, Brona was hardly happy. She was a raven who yearned to fly and be free in the skies. Trapped to a faerie that used her for her powers and beauty, she was pained but as the days went by, she learnt to like him and soon, they were bonded.

Ravens bonded for life, even if they were stuck in a vicious cycle of tears and pain. Malcolm wanted a child and she had failed to bear him for years. He hated her for that and the pain continued on. She thought she would die. She _wished_ she were dead.

When she was finally pregnant, everything changed. Malcolm was kinder, gentler, and almost compassionate _._ Brona hoped that maybe she could learn how to love him a little. Maybe. The child in her taught her how to hope, even if she felt her body falling apart as it grew inside of her.

But he knew. He knew that Brona would not survive the pregnancy. He knew that and yet he watched her suffer, watched the life drain out of her as she carried their child. He did nothing but offer empty promises of days filled with laughter.

As her body wilted, a new life grew.

_‘Rumplestiltskin’_ , she managed to utter it out, her first and last gift to her son. 

……… 

Like his mum, he had a pair of large raven wings. When they were fully spread out, they were much taller than him in length. They would drag behind him as he walked and like him, they were stubborn. He had difficulty trying to control that pair of hyperactive wings. They refused to listen, just like how Tink complained about her unruly hair.

His wings were his life, his soul. They brought him anywhere he wanted to go and everywhere he needed to be. He loved to fly, to soar in the sky, feeling the wind against his face.

He was free. Free and happy without any worries.

Sometimes, he would go up above the clouds even when he was told not to. The Fair people did not like how he could soar above the rest but he did it anyway.

Flying was simply exhilarating. It was in his veins. The wings were an essential part of him, just like his arms, his heart, his stomach, his intestines, his…

They were his life.

“Rumple! Stop showing off!” Milah would roll her eyes in annoyance. He would laugh and soared even higher, testing the limits of his strong wings.

They never failed him. They never let him fall.

………

“Rumplestiltskin,” his father’s voice was sharp and unforgiving. He flinched, carefully folding his wings behind his back.

“Father,” he murmured with his head hung low.

“You have failed me once more,” Malcolm’s words hung above them, thick and heavy with disappointment and contempt. Despite being Fae sized, Malcolm had a presence that filled the space while Rumplestiltskin, the size of a human child, shrunk into the size of a pea.

“I’m sorry, father,” he could barely whisper.

“Go. I do not wish to see you. Do not return until you have found the magic bean,” Malcolm commanded.

Rumplestiltskin bowed and retreated, spreading his wings and flying off into the sky.

A beam caught him and struck him down.

“You do not deserve to fly.” His father icy words cut through his tender heart.

He did not deserve to fly.

…………. 

Malcolm died.

He was flying about as usual, tricking humans and searching for the ‘magic bean’ he claimed existed. That was when he was caught in the battle.

Soldiers from the Kingdom Alovia had ambushed him, just a lone faerie too drunk to even function, and stuck an iron pole into his heart. Malcolm was the first to die in the war between Fae and human but he certainly was not the last.

When Rumplestiltskin learnt about his father death, he was devastated, naturally. It was what he was supposed to feel after all. His only family was dead within seconds.

Queen Blue of the moors had comforted him apathetically, putting on a show for the Kingdom to watch. It was no secret that the Queen felt no love for Malcolm and his Halfling child.

Rumplestiltskin had no time to mourn, for the war swept through the moors with fury and power.

All the Fae and creatures of the moors were put to work. Their only duty was to protect the moors and everything in it.

Rumplestiltskin was only the physical age of eight, too young for the horrors that graced his eyes.

………..

The first war had ended when Rumplestiltskin was sixteen.  Years of uneasy peace settled between the two kingdoms, both sides drained from the terrible war.

The Fair people began their reconstruction of the Moors. Flowers sprung from the scorched lands, trees regained their colours and the rivers flowed once more. The people recovered from the war, hushed cries disappearing from the air as laughter learnt to replace them. The fair people learnt to forget the pain and focus on the present. They danced with the wind, allowed the currents to sweep them off, becoming complacent and content of their current situation.

Not Rumplestiltskin. He could feel the slight chill in the air that ran down his spine, seeping into his veins. Peace was temporary. He knew that the war would start once more and until a day when humans could stop their greed, they would never have everlasting peace.

It didn’t come as a shock when another war started when he was thirty. King Xavier, the young ambitious new ruler had succumbed to greed once more.

“I won’t let them take you Bae,” Rumplestiltskin held his son tight, promising him things that he couldn’t keep.

“You can’t stop them papa, you know that. It is our duty as part of the Fair people to protect the Moors,” Baelfire pulled away from his father’s tight embrace. He saw the pain and worries in his father’s eyes. “Besides papa, you’re the strongest of them all. You will protect me. Protect us.”

“Yes. Yes I will.” It was a promise he had to keep. Rumplestiltskin had lost Milah to a blasted human Pirate. He did not love Milah but how could she abandon their child? Their child who could not fly?

“Papa, take me flying?” Bae asked with a sweet smile.

“Yes, yes.”

Rumple gathered the boy into his arms and spread his wings. The pair of coal wings carried them above the clouds, before plunging them down and skimming the ground. They were putting on a show for Baelfire, the love of their owner.

Baelfire, the poor boy who wasn’t born with wings.

Rumplestiltskin wasn’t deaf to the rumours some of the Fair people had said about Bae. Some said that Milah was never faithful to him and Bae was a child by a human. Some said that it was a punishment for Rumplestiltskin’s power.

As far as Rumplestiltskin was concerned, Baelfire was his and he would never let him go.

He lived for his laughter.

                                                 ……… 

There were too many arrows, too many. Smoke clouded his vision and he fought to spot Baelfire. He must be there somewhere. He must.

Damn those humans. Damn Blue.

With a single beat of his wings, he cleared the air of pollutants.

Some things were better off left blurry.

There was bloodshed everywhere, crimson red soaking into the ground. Men came upon them, waves after waves, a never ending chain of monsters.

Rumplestiltskin growled and by conjuring a spell, he sent those vile humans flying through the sky, falling with a loud crack.

His arms were wrapped around the bleeding child of his, holding his feverish body close.

There was a flurry of iron arrows.

Too many.

He had his limits too.

As the iron scalded his flesh, his magic grew weaker, unable to fend off the attacks that showered them.

He could not remember what happened next. He did not want to.

There was this pain that tore through his body, raw and piercing, ripping off a chunk of him. His right back felt empty, too light. The north wind chilled his heart.

He plummeted down from the clouds, for half a pair of wings could not carry him, much less the weight of two.

He tried to control the earth, to create a cushion that would catch them both but he was too blinded by the pain that seared through his body and all magic failed him.

“Papa,” Bae whimpered in his embrace, still semi-unconscious from his fever.

Arrows sliced his arms and he let go.

“Bae!” His shout, his scream filled the forest, echoing for miles and miles, haunting those who had heard such a cry of absolute despair.

There was a blinding darkness that swept across the lands, destroying all humans in its path.

There was silence after the destruction, a calming peace after the storm.

A one winged Fae held the bloodied, broken body of his child, his tears burning the land.

He laid the boy down and stood up, his eyes dark and haunted. In his palms was now a knife and he sliced through his back, removing the lone wing.

He was caught off balance, not used to the newfound lightness. From twigs and earth, he created a walking stick with intricate carvings around it.

_You don’t deserve to fly._

A mockingbird hopped close, tilting its young head before flying off into the sky.


End file.
